


Backspace

by sarken



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Gen, Pencils Down, WGA Strike, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-08
Updated: 2008-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the WGA strike, Jon prepares to return without his writers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backspace

There's a line between writing and preparing, but it's a line drawn in a child's scribble, all messy and broken, both sides still bleeding into each other. On Jon's computer screen, phrases from an outline turn into sentences, and the backspace key burns beneath his guilty fingers. The evidence is gone, but traitorous phrases linger in Jon's mind. He tries to forget them; he worries he will.

Palms flat against the wooden surface, Jon rolls his chair back from the desk. He paces around the office once, twice, three times, looking for a distraction. He settles for busying his hands with Guitar Hero, but his mind is still creating the script he won't write.

There are footsteps in the corridor, passing in front of his closed door. He can't hear them over his game, but he can feel the atmosphere change. But no one stops to say hello, to ask what's up on the other side of the door. Hidden from view, Jon used to use "writing" as a euphemism for "goofing." The times when he said nothing, those were the writing times.

He vows to stop misusing the word as he fucks up the riff on "Surrender."

-

Hands empty of familiar blue papers, Jon stands awkwardly in the wings. Even back here, the studio lights shine unusually hot, as if Jon needs a reminder about frying pans and fires. Unconsciously, he tugs at his shirt collar when his eyes land on the naked Teleprompters. He sees himself reflected on their dark screens, a cartoon character with sweatdrops flying.

Jon has heard that paper is for wimps, but he has never needed, never wanted, to prove his strength.

-

There's no still no script, but the toss should be easy. He knows how to talk to Stephen, how to joke with him; Jon does it every day. It's natural, like writing, like breathing, like goofing -- it's something he does without meaning to.

Some city blocks away, Stephen shreds a script, hides the evidence. Jon feels the brand of his backspace key still warm on his fingertip, but he folds his fingers against his palm and rolls with the gag. He rolls like the wheels of his desk chair, but his heart skips a beat when Stephen accuses him of seeming prepared.

The satellite feed hiccoughs then, a scribble of static darting across the screen as Jon recovers from his missed heartbeat.

Later, standing outside the studio, sharing the sidewalk with the ghost of a picket line, Jon thinks Stephen, the real Stephen, might have meant it as a compliment.

-end-


End file.
